


Strange Itch

by Jenni_Snake



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Developing Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 22:42:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenni_Snake/pseuds/Jenni_Snake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a post-kaiju world, Newton pays a visit to the man he thought for sure was dead, and ends up getting something he didn't know he needed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strange Itch

Newton had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t take the bait. He wouldn’t let the frustration that was making every nerve ending in his body buzz turn into a yelling match. He dug his nails into his palms to try to keep the anger contained.

“If I slip on one more piece of biological detritus strewn across the floor, Newton, I swear to God...”

He broke his own promise. It hadn’t been a week since the Shatterdome had been put on pause as now-Marshall Hansen argued with nearly every level of almost every government about transfering funding from the defunct Kaiju Wall project to allow for a legitimate phase-out of the Jaeger program, at least long enough to guarantee “that the breach had bloody well collapsed.” It hadn’t been a week since he had seen into the mind of his colleague who, after an initial softening, now seemed to pretend as if it had never happened. It hadn’t been a fucking week since he had saved the world, and he wanted the world to stop carrying on around him as if there were more important things to do. Newton knew he wasn’t dealing with his own stress very well, but he had finally reached the point where he didn’t give a damn.

“For Christ’s sake, Hermann!” he exploded, “this is a fucking biology lab! The floor was fucking designed for my work! These are fucking dissection tables! The whole fucking thing is made of stainless steel so it can be fucking hosed down, and I don’t even know what you’re doing in here!”

Hermann had waited until at least a quarter of the way through Newt’s explanation until he started talking over him.

“It’s just more of your bloody excuses, like always, the same tired arguments you use for working as if you had been raised by wolves. You live your life as if there is no one else in the world except yourself.”

“Why don’t you just take your goddamned chalkboards and get out?! I never asked you to be here!"

Hermann sighed, unperturbed by the insult, as if Newton was a rather thick child who was having difficulty understanding a very simple concept.

“Given your supposed intelligence quotient, your inability to understand the most obvious of principles is, quite frankly, astounding. In all honesty, it was quite a surprise to me that we were even drift compatible.”

There was a tightness in Newton’s throat that formed at Hermann’s words. They had been arguing on a daily basis since they had started to work together at the PPDC nearly a decade before, but he had never let it get to him. Or not often. Today was one of the days that it did. Shakily, he snapped off his gloves, tried to throw them in a basin, and ended up missing, which made Hermann tut at him. He wanted to scream, but knew it would only have Hermann rolling his eyes, or give him more fodder for his digs. He had to leave. He grabbed the jacket off the back of his chair and slipped it on as he left, furtively pocketing the square red card as he passed his desk.

Newton made a beeline through the hallways, past security and out into the misty grey morning. He turned his collar up to the not-quite rain and scrambled into the first taxi he could flag down. He wanted to give the exact intersection, Fong and Tull, but settled for the closest large road - he knew exactly where he was going, but couldn’t explain to himself why, and didn’t want to say it out loud, even to a stranger.

The drive, which normally would have taken less than twenty minutes, ended up taking more than twice that, with the road closures and detours snaking around the half-ruined city, but at least his driver seemed to know what he was doing and which side roads were best to take. Newton pressed a few hundred Hong Kong dollars into his palm without waiting for change and jumped from the cab. The wind had picked up, and the ride hadn’t done much to calm his nerves, and he slammed the side of his fist into a metal sign post, and then swore when it hurt more than he had expected. He walked past two blocks of depressing apartment buildings, all peeling white paint and mismatched balconies, then turned down the small road with the kaiju ribs clawing at the clouds on its horizon, surprised that his feet knew where he was going even before he did.

Newton took the metal stairs to the nearly-empty upper promenade two by two. The bell rang shrilly as he pushed open the door of the unassuming herb shop and was assaulted by its warm, pungent aroma, with just an undertone of something more chemical. The woman with the round face, bluntly cut hair, and thick arm warmers over her jacket sleeves glanced up at him, then went right back to her newspaper. At a loss, Newton pushed the red square of paper across the counter towards her. Without making eye contact, she slid it under a blacklight to check its imprint and back towards him. Still focussed on her paper, she conspicuously pressed a button that seemed to do nothing, and then inconspicuously pressed another that clicked ajar a door painted black to disappear into the wall. After only a moment’s hesitation, Newton glided through it, pressing it shut behind himself.

It led to the same room he had been in just a week before, though it looked markedly different in the daylight, jars unlit on their shelves, the marble floors dull grey, the wooden panels disappearing into the dark. And it was empty. Completely empty. He almost didn’t see him sitting in an elaborately carved zitan chair near the open balcony. And he certainly didn’t believe it. And still he knew he had been secretly hoping for it.

Almost as if he could feel Newt staring at him, Hannibal turned away from the bunch of paper he was holding and looked at him. He tossed the pile onto the table next to him without taking his eyes off Newt and breathed out a silent laugh.

“Well, I’ll be...” he drawled.

Newton blinked. He must have been hallucinating when he had seen the man that was now sitting in front of him eaten alive.

“My thoughts exactly,” Newt said in awe. “How the hell...?”

Hannibal grinned, revealing half a row of gold-crowned teeth.

“That’s what I was going to ask you,” he said, gesturing for Newt to come closer, and pulling at the skin beneath his eye in the same way he did as when they had first met. Newt knew that he saw the orangey-yellow remnants of the the burst blood vessel on his sclera that he himself had been watching heal every day.

“You did it again, didn’t you?” Hannibal asked, with something between amazement and censure.

“I saved the fucking world,” Newton whimpered, blinking his eye as it dried, trying to distract from his hyper focus on the fingers placed on his neck that made his breath speed up inexplicably.

Hannibal withdrew his hand.

“That you did,” he conceded.

“I - I had help, of - of - of course,” Newton stuttered, “my colleague, my - my friend, we... shared...”

He didn’t have to finish his thought.

“Damn lucky you did.”

Newton couldn’t see Hannibal’s eyes, and had difficulty determining if his lips were curled in a smile or a sneer. Hannibal stood up, towering over him, hands in his pockets, and rocked back on his heels.

“What was it that brought you back, then?” he asked, looking down his nose at him.

“I - I don’t know,” Newton admitted honestly. “I don’t know why - I guess I thought you were dead and this whole place would be shut down and... I... I just... I just couldn’t stay away.”

“Then it seems that bone powder I slipped you worked.”

A look of panic must have flooded Newton’s face because a smile spread across Hannibal’s.

“Don’t worry, I’m just razzing you.”

Hannibal flipped out his switchblade, playing with it idly. Newton tried not to look nervous.

“So, you come to find out if I’m alive - repaying the favour to Pentecost?”

“Pentecost’s dead,” Newton declared plainly.

Hannibal didn’t react, just took a moment to calculate. He shook his head.

“That’s a damn shame. He was a good man. Knew the risks he was running, but did it anyway. He knew what he was doing. Not a lot of people like that around.”

He flipped his blade again for a moment in silence, and Newt just watched him.

“So!” Hannibal exclaimed suddenly, making Newt jump, “you just here to gawk, then? Wondering how I did it?”

Without warning, and in one swift movement, Hannibal flung the knife across the room, lodging it inches deep into a narrow piece of wood, just missing the glass jars on either side. It sent a rush down Newt’s spine, and he felt his pulse quicken. Hannibal eyed him.

“So then what is it that brought you back?” he mused aloud, voice an earthy growl, more as if trying to figure out a riddle than actually directing a question at him.

Newton didn’t say anything, wanting to run, but glued to the spot. Hannibal was circling him slowly, the metallic clinking of his shoes echoing through the room with every step. He stopped in front of him, looking at him from behind his shaded glasses. Newton couldn’t read his eyes, and nervously pushed his own glasses up his face with his palm unconcerned that he was smudging his lenses, not knowing what to do next. Thankfully, he didn’t need to.

With his thumb, Hannibal stroked the stubble on his cheek, and Newton closed his eyes, letting his warmth spread through his body. He didn’t try to stop his breathing from getting heavier, and he let himself enjoy the heat and the strength of Hannibal’s hand outright. Only vaguely did he register that he was slowly being maneuvered backwards, and caught his breath when he was backed up against the wall. He tilted his head back, biting his lip, and swallowed at the heavy kiss that was pressed against his neck. As Hannibal took his earlobe between his teeth, breathing measuredly in his ear, Newt let out a keen whimper and grasped at his back. The crimson silk was as smooth and as thick and as warm as blood.

Hannibal deftly loosened Newt’s tie and undid the top buttons of his shirt with one hand, sliding it under the fabric and over his collarbone. Newton felt himself straining painfully against his tight jeans, and dug his nails into Hannibal's jacket. He felt his collar being tugged aside, then stop. His eyes flew open, and he saw Hannibal staring at his skin.

"What in the world...?" he muttered, baffled. It took Newton a moment before he came back to himself, and realized Hannibal must have been staring at his tattoos.

Suddenly self conscious, thoughts tripping from defensiveness to embarrassment, he tried to pull his shirt back up to cover himself. Hannibal caught his hand and moved it away.

"How far does it go?" he asked.

The tone of genuine curiosity made Newt braver, and he answered by showing. He fidgeted with his tie, giving up halfway through and pulling it over his head, then quickly shrugging off his jacket. As he undid button after button of his shirt, he felt Hannibal's eyes on him. When he pulled it off, sleeve by sleeve, Hannibal couldn't resist running his hands over both of his upper arms. Newton grinned and blushed at being admired, and lightly pushed Hannibal's hands away. He untied his boots quickly and tossed each one aside with his socks. Completely without reserve, he pulled his jeans off with his shorts, unembarrassed at his hardening erection, revealing the ink that stopped in solid lines at his ankles, his neck and extended ever so slightly with Yamarashi and Hidoi's claws at his wrists.

"Sweet mercy..." was the only commentary that Hannibal offered, but it was more than enough for Newt. Trembling with pride and anticipation, he took Hannibal's hand and spread it over his sternum, practically covering Clawhook's entire face. From there he was free to close his eyes again as Hannibal rubbed his nipple, then traced the outlines of the kaiju that decorated his chest, his arms, his thighs, and even part of the length of his cock. He grew harder with each new exploration, and bolder, and ran his hands up Hannibal's neck and twisted them firmly in his hair. Hannibal growled, and Newt responded with a moan.

He gasped as the floor disappeared beneath his feet as he was hoisted easily and suddenly against the wall, pinned between its cold surface and the smooth warmth of Hannibal's vest. He wrapped his legs around his waist and slid his arms around his neck, pressing as much of his naked torso against Hannibal as he could. Newt pressed his face to the crook of his neck, inhaling a light, intoxicating mixture of mint and spruce. He wriggled his hips just enough to feel the rough fabric of Hannibal's trousers as he unzipped his fly, and then the skin of his unleashed erection against his own weeping cock. Newt writhed as Hannibal grabbed them both in one hand, gliding his middle finger over the slick tips, moving over them like silk. When he let go Newt mewled plaintively until he felt Hannibal cupping his ass searching for and almost immediately finding his entrance and sliding a large finger inside him. It was just as Newt's body stopped shuddering that another finger was slipped inside and he cried out ecstatically. He writhed and squirmed and heat spread through his groin, front and back, and he felt Hannibal smile as he pressed his mouth against his shoulder. Newt found himself wordlessly crying for more, and Hannibal more than willing to offer it up. He bit his lip as the fingers slid out of him, leaving him shaking with euphoria and longing. He tried, as always, to relax, and failed just as Hannibal pushed the tip of his cock into him, and he whispered to him to stop and wait, and he did, absorbing the feeling of him, as he gave him the signal to go, and he pressed in slowly and deeply and Newt moaned and caressed his neck, and his eyes fluttered and he took all he could. And he was lost in Hannibal’s irregular rhythm, now fast and hard, then slow and deep, lifting Newt by his ass, or pressing him up against the wall, pleasing himself as as much as he made Newt go to pieces. It seemed like a euphoric eternity, his body entirely his and completely separate from himself, amazed that he still had the strength to hold onto Hannibal’s neck, or his waist for that matter, his feet flexing and pointing almost beyond his control.

Just as he shuddered towards climax, his moans a crescendo, he felt his cock proficiently covered with a hand and a handkerchief, the slightly rough material helping him come in jerks and stutters that he half followed and half led, and with two last deep thrusts felt Hannibal come hot and hard inside him, warm come trailing both in and out of him. He squeezed his eyes shut wishing he could stay meshed like this in total bliss until he drifted into unconsciousness. They stayed intertwined for only a moment more before Hannibal pulled out of him and set him down delicately on his feet again, turning away to arrange himself back into his clothing.

“I'll leave you to...” Hannibal trailed off, finishing his sentence with a vague wave of his hand and angling the end of the wooden screen to give him more privacy

Newton stood with his back against the cool wall, feeling the adrenaline buzzing and fading through his shaking limbs, waiting for his breathing to return to normal, feeling calm and at ease for the first time in what seemed like forever. It was more than a full minute before he could even start to dress himself. He emerged to find Hannibal sitting and reading as he had first found him, perusing the papers he had had in his hand, looking for all the world as though nothing had just happened. Disappointment scratched at the back of Newt’s brain, infected with an awkwardness that made him cross his arms to shield himself. Regret swelled in his chest.

“You should come back again sometime,” Hannibal said, the rumble of his voice edged with tenderness, melting Newt’s misgivings, replacing them with an unanticipated sense of trust.

“I might,” he blurted then swallowed hard, unhappy with his own response, and tried again, more lightly, “I - I think I will.”

And he let himself out the way he had come in.


End file.
